Deconstruction of a mug
by Lore Alexian
Summary: Who knew that Albus Dumbledore could learn so much over a simple cup of tea. Rated T for swearing. Pt 2 of DECONSTRUCTION series


**Hello my readers. I am setting a new record. Two updates in 32 days! You can thank Shippo704 for this miraculous achievement.  
One guess as to where I had the most troubles writing...  
This story takes place both BEFORE AND AFTER DotT.  
There will be two more in this series. One will have four chapters and I think the other will have three. I WILL NOT BE POSTING OVER THE SPAN OF SEVEN MONTHS. When they are being posted, they might be every two weeks.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own FMA or HP.  
Do not flame. If you don't like it, don't read it. Simple as that.**

~~!~~

No matter how many times Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stood outside the house, he always got filled with a sense of awe and fear.

The stout house was nothing special. A dying garden lead to a chipped front porch and a wooden door that Albus was sure had seen more history than the books housed in the Hogwarts library. The knocker was off-centre and when he used it, it sounded tainted. Like something that didn't belong.

The young man waited outside until the door was opened to reveal a bedraggled Nicholas Flamel clutching a coffee mug as if all worlds' secrets were in its depths, as well as a philosopher's stone.

"Albus! Come in, come in. Sit." He pointed to a squishy chair surrounded by books. Every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday mornings, when Flamel seemed to be losing the fight against waking up, Albus liked going through the research notes left scattered around. He never understood them, but it made him wonder if this was what muggle children felt like when studying magic. That's what alchemy felt like to him. Magic.

He heard a chuckle from the couch across from him and the question, "Find anything good?"

"Alchemy research is fascinating." Albus resumed reading the notes, trying to commit them to memory, but he knew it was no use. He didn't understand them at all. It was all too advanced for him…not that he would admit that out loud.

When Flamel finished his coffee, he rose and offered a cup of tea to Albus.

"You…you don't have to do that," the young man said.

"I insist. A cup of tea is the least I can offer for all your help."

That gave Albus a little bit of ease. He was told by Flamel to go grab a mug from the cupboard and pick out a flavour of tea. Albus did as he was told and went to open the cupboard, but saw a mug that caught his eye. It was white like the rest but it had an intricate design on the side. He wondered if it was a transmutation circle.

He picked it up and felt that it was a weighty mug, much heavier than the ones that Flamel usually used. He decided this was the mug to use today.

He poured the hot water and put the tea in, waiting for it to steep. He carried the mug back to the living room to find Flamel looking more alive than before.

"Alright! Let's get started!" Flamel led Albus to their 'laboratory' in the living room where the man took notice of the mug.

"Ah, that mug, please be careful. Don't break it because I'll never hear the end of it."

Albus nodded.

As the hours passed and the tea began to dwindle, Albus and Flamel were not making any progress. Flamel seemed to have more explosions than results and Albus had zero reactions.

Flamel also seemed to be muttering, saying he wished that someone else would help out. Albus wasn't sure who he was talking about, but any help they could get would be appreciated.

Albus was waved off as he asked about the mutterings of the older man. "It's not important. Would you come here a moment?"

It took Albus some time to figure out that Flamel was distracting him. The true alchemist did not need his help with any of the findings, but it made a good excuse while it lasted. Albus had believed he was helping with the alchemic side of the researching. Flamel only needed him where magic was concerned as the man could not perform it due to having studied alchemy for so long. The concept of magic was a hard one to grasp for one who was accustomed to knowing every step and detail about his craft before being about to perform it.

But the magical research behind the philosopher's stone that plagued his friend's mind were not what was bothering Albus.

"Flamel, how well do you know the neighbourhood?" he asked.

"Well enough."

"Who is the pretty little blonde girl I see around? I've never seen her face but she wears a red jacket and a braid. She wears a scarf a lot or her hood up."

Flamel thought about it for a moment, thinking.

"Pretty little blondes? I don't…"

He suddenly snorted and began to laugh. It took a minute to compose himself. "You don't want to get mixed up with her."

"So you do know. Who is she?"

"I do know her a lot better than I should and I know that she's a spit fire little thing. Don't try talking to her. She might bite your head off."

Albus wasn't sure if he was intrigued or willing to listen to the advice and try not to talk to her. He preferred his head on his shoulders, thank you very much. That also spiked his curiosity. Just who was it that would cause Flamel of all people to say stay away?

They entered silence again, Flamel moving to the experimentation table next to the desk where Albus had taken residence. The young man could not help but sometimes watch Flamel perform what he assumed was simple alchemy, judging by the ease with which the man performed it.

Flamel caught his eye a few times and smirked.

"Do you want to try?"

Albus nodded but admitted he wasn't sure.

"I think I trust you enough to try this. Your tea has gone cold, try heating it up again." Hohenheim didn't think he would have to supervise his pupil/partner, so he turned back to the table.

He was wrong.

Albus had pulled out a simplistic transmutation circle for the transference of heat that he had been told to work on weeks prior and ran it by Hohenheim who gave a half-hearted nod of having seen it. Albus laid it down on the table, picking up the mug and setting it in the middle, ensuring that it was dead centre, not a millimetre off.

Once he was satisfied with the set up. He rubbed his hands together, his little tic for alchemy that Hohenheim would tease him about sometimes and placed his hands on the outer ring, trying to feel the energy. Once he took hold of the energy and directed it towards his circle, he threw himself into the reaction.

And was thrown across the room, pieces of ceramic lodged in his face, neck and hands.

Flamel was not spared. He had been splashed by scalding hot tea that he truly believed was either pure lava or acid. He wasn't sure, nor did he care as he screamed and performed the dance of pain towards the sink to wash as much of it off as possible and also calm the burning.

"What happened?!" Flamel yelled from the kitchen.

"I…I don't know!" Albus yelled back. "I did as you told me and tried to heat the water, but I might have heated it too much?"

Flamel took a few more minutes before he emerged from the kitchen with a towel draped over his arm and a bucket of water for first aid for Albus.

"Let's see the damage," Flamel said, but stopped.

The man stared at the broken shards that used to be a mug and swore in a language Albus had never heard before. Albus's pain disappeared in a moment of panic, remembering Flamel's earlier warning.

"I'm sorry! I'll fix it," Albus said, pulling out his wand. He didn't trust himself enough to try alchemy again with the amount of damage he had caused. Flamel had also said that even if fixing things was easy using alchemy, you had to know the entire molecular structure; something Albus didn't know the first thing about.

He waved his wand with a "Reparo," which had no effect. The shards did not move. He repeated the word with no progress.

"Odd, that should have worked," he mumbled, trying the spell one last time.

Flamel took a position next to him. "Hmm, maybe something destroyed using alchemy cannot be fixed using magic…"

He observed the shards littering the area and jolted when he remembered that there was first aid to perform, but he dealt with it rather quickly.

"Albus, break this using magic," Flamel said, holding up his own empty coffee mug.

Albus did with no difficulty.

"Now fix it."

He did.

"Hmm…" Flamel became absorbed by the study of alchemy verses magic on the simplest of plains and that was the last Albus had heard about the mug, other than one uttered phrase, "I shouldn't have let you use that mug."

~~!*!~~ _But that was so long ago_ ~~!*!~~

Professor Albus Dumbledore had been invited one last time to 'Nicholas Flamel's abode before he and his son were going to move and break contact. He stood there outside, reliving his youth on the front stairs of the house.

The familiar sight of Hohenheim clutching coffee met him as the door swung open. The man gestured him in and a not completely unfamiliar set up met his eyes.

There was an incredibly worn couch on the wall opposite a squishy chair surrounded by books. In the chair, though, there was the sleeping body of Edward, his face planted on a scribble covered page. His notebook had illegible writing, a telltale sign of being awake far too late.

"Albus."

"Hohenheim."

"Let's move to the kitchen to not wake Ed."

"You dote on him far too much."

"He is my son. It never matters how old your children are, you will always dote and worry."

Albus wouldn't know. He was neither a grandfather nor a father. With his sister dead and his brother hating his guts, he didn't expect nieces or nephews either.

"I mentioned before that we are leaving, selling everything we own and living with nothing but the clothes on our backs and each other. I cannot let anyone get a hold of Ed."

"Because he's a homunculus?"

"Because he's fragile. I've worked with him on himself and his confidence for so long, but one wrong move can send everything crashing down. I refuse to let that happen again."

He paused before he looked at Dumbledore again. "But if there is anything you want, anything, take it."

There were a great number of things he wanted from Hohenheim, but he knew that there were some things he wasn't getting no matter how much he begged.

Dumbledore wanted the research he had been looking over all those years ago, but knew that Hohenheim and Edward would be burning all their research as to ensure it never be used for immoral doings. He wished he had paid closer attention to it, rather than only admiring the level of detail that went into the searches. All he could remember were diagrams that were hazy and incredibly wordy passages about the flow of energy.

With an offering of tea and a cup in hand in the professor's hand that matched the alchemist's, the men sat at the table to talk.

"Hohenheim, you never did answer who that little blonde was when I asked you all those years ago. It was Ed wasn't it? That's why you said those things, to keep me away." Dumbledore didn't blame the man. At the time, Dumbledore had been incredibly young compared to now and still hadn't really figured himself out.

"Well, you're not wrong. I just didn't think Ed would appreciate being called a girl nor pretty. He usually went on walks when he needs to clear his head."

"Ah, I see. I understand. I remember thinking about that figure for a long time, trying to figure out who it was, but I could never pin a name or anything. Don't tell Edward, but I followed him a few times."

"Oh, I know. He wasn't happy about being followed."

"You can bet I wasn't…" they heard the mumble from behind them.

They turned to see a sleepy Edward with vague black words inked onto his skin from laying on the notebook which over-laid the red etchings on his skin.

"I have heard of researchers becoming one with their transcripts, but this is something new," Dumbledore chuckled.

"Shut it, old man," the homunculus said, not so subtly rubbing his face where he believed the words were stained.

This caused both men to chuckle, each for a different reasons; Hohenheim for being reminded that Edward could still be human and Dumbledore for being prompted that even though the boy in front of him was five times his age, he was still just that, a child, a teenager.

"Edward, come here," Hohenheim motioned.

"No, I'll get it myself," the teen mumbled again. "Don't touch me with your old man hands. I might catch whatever you have."

Still rubbing at his face, Edward went to get a cup from the cupboard. He stood on his tip toes to try to see into the cupboard's bottom shelf, but wasn't having much success. Albus noted the staring contest with the unassuming stool in the corner the boy was having before Edward lost and picked it up, bringing it to the cupboard.

"Dad, where is my mug?" he asked.

"Back, behind the red bowl," Hohenheim replied, sipping his drink.

"Why would you put it there? I can't reach it…" Edward turned and glared.

Hohenheim didn't speak, just taking another sip of his coffee.

After Edward climbed off the stool and poured himself a cup of coffee as black as he believed his soul to be, he wandered over to stand by the table, both chairs being already claimed.

"Why are you talking about me being followed?" Edward asked, eyeing the men.

Hohenheim motioned for Dumbledore to take over, as this was his fault for breaching the topic.

Dumbledore thought about how he would begin. He decided to go right into the topic, telling Edward about the first time he had seen him.

"I remember you were wearing your red jacket and you were picking at your cuffs. I believe you had your hood up and your braid was hanging out. There was a ribbon on the end, which is the reason I believed you to be a girl. I saw you a few more times before I asked your father about who the little blonde that was in the neighbourhood. He just said to stay away. I did, mostly because I was scared of being rejected."

Edward had stopped sipping his coffee and was eyeing Dumbledore, inching away from the old man.

"I was young and believed that I liked girls. I found your figure to be…intriguing."

"God, you're creepy." Edward rolled his eyes and sipped.

Dumbledore chuckled. He liked to entertain.

The conversations continued until Dumbledore asked about Edward's mug. It was black with golden lettering.

"I am a little rusty on chemistry. What is the elemental symbol that resides on your mug?"

Edward looked confused and mumbled, "Gold?"

He swung the mug around to better show off the marking.

"What happened to the last one? The one I broke," the man asked.

"Well, you broke it and Dad didn't fix it. As you know, I can't perform alchemy since I'm a homunculus. Actually, why didn't you fix it, dad?"

Hohenheim turned a little red and turned away from the conversation. Clearly there was something he didn't tell his son.

"Well…I might not have mentioned...that…" he trailed off. "It shattered into a hundred or so pieces…I threw out the pieces that I could find since I knew you could tell the difference between my mugs and yours."

There was a silence.

"What?"

Edward had not known about that part.

"Why would you…"

"I had assumed that Albus had listened to me about the conservation of energy, but I don't think I explained it well."

"How could you fuck up something that easy?! How difficult is it to explain that there is no loss or gain of energy?! You are only directing it!"

"I guess he didn't understand that. Magic just heats up the particles and prevents the hydrogen from being released too quickly. It does the distribution of energy for them without them having to think about it." Hohenheim knew what was coming.

"That's so lazy! I knew I hated magic! Understanding the distribution of energy in any given substance during an alchemic or chemical reaction is one of the fundamental concepts necessary for understanding enthalpy and how that is related to heating up a fucking cup of god damn dirty leaf water!"

"Albus didn't understand the concept of distribution. He was probably under the common belief that the molecules all heat up at the same time."

"So he just went 'here is some energy, hope this works!' Amateurs do that!"

"He was a beginner at the time. I didn't explain that if you're not careful, you'll heat up a common group of particles, causing them to be energized too much and break apart from H2O to form two single Hs and one single O thereby combining themselves into H2s and O2s after the molecular separation."

"It still shouldn't have even exploded in the first place! The only way it could have possibly exploded is if there was some sort of catalyst to spark the combustion! Otherwise, the gases would have diffused harmlessly into the air with him feeling nothing more than a slight puff as the hydrogen and oxygen moved past."

"In his defense, he did feel a slight puff of air." Hohenheim shrugged.

"Slight puff my ass! There are only two ways I can think of that could have caused this…this… destruction, and one of which I should hope that you are not stupid enough to entrust to such an inexperienced idiot with a blatant disregard for the simplest rules of alchemy, thereby meaning that you let him use a generic heating circle without the parameters to limit the rate of energy transference, whilst simultaneously maintaining the method, and which components would receive the energy."

"Edward…"

"High energy, plus spark, plus flammable gas equals boom! Or do I have to make it simpler for you in your old age?"

"Edward, that's rude."

"Your point?"

Dumbledore figured this be a good moment to interrupt. "Would anyone like to explain in simpler terms my mistake?"

Hohenheim turned to Dumbledore. "Well, to put it simply, you didn't really concentrate enough on the reaction, therefore separating things that shouldn't have been separated and they smooshed back together in ways they shouldn't have causing the explosion. Make sense?"

"A good deal more than your conversation with Edward, yes."

Edward nearly threw his cup in the air as he stalked away, dumping his coffee into the sink and washing the mug.

The older men listened to the angered thumping of the homunculus until there was a slam and Hohenheim confirmed that Edward was in his room now.

"If we could return to the conversation about what you wanted from me," Hohenheim said, wanting to return to relatively safe ground.

Dumbledore thought long and hard about it.

"This might seem like a strange request, but is Edward going to be taking his mug with him?"

Hohenheim looked confused. "No, I don't think so."

"Is there any way I could have it?"

"Um, I don't see why not?"

Dumbledore smiled. A few hours later, they bid each other a good bye and Hohenheim promised to mail the mug to the professor once they were officially moving away. It was to symbolize the breaking of contact.

Dumbledore received the mug on the first day of the new school year. He looked at it with a saddened gaze, but no one picked up on it. He was fine by that. He wanted some time alone.

It wasn't until the illustrious Gilderoy Lockhart commented on the mug that anyone really noticed it.

"Professor Dumbledore, I noticed you do not drink from the same tea cups as we do. Might I ask where you got such a muggle-istic thing?"

"Ah, an old friend of mine gave it to me once his son was finished with it."

"And what is the etching on the front?"

"Just a little joke among the three of us. It is nothing of much merit."

"Why would you use such a large tea cup? It is quite massive. I for one…" and Lockhart was off, talking about himself as no one listened.

Dumbledore turned to the staff table and said, "This coffee mug is here to remind me of a man who taught me many things."

He didn't mention that he said many more, but they were nothing to Dumbledore but the ramblings of an old man.

That, and the simplest secrets of alchemy, that Dumbledore didn't understand because Hohenheim lacked a thing called coherency.

No one asked about the mug again. After all, this was Dumbledore they were talking about.


End file.
